The crowned head looks at the world Poem by Olli Heikkonen

The crowned head looks at the world. This forest,
behind the meadow, it's mine, he might say, snorting,
as the smoke rises and the horizon grows pale.
The crowned head hears the machine's thunder,
hears how steel bends across rivers and columns pass
one after another. Nothing can hold them back:
Ob, Lena, Yenisei. The ice breaks
like an eggshell. The frozen ground
splits open, becomes a highway. The crowned head
looks at the world, shrugs pitch off his flanks.
And under His Majesty's eyelids
the columns keep on coming.